From age one I lived in a small town called Barrington, known for its “amazing” school system it had to offer. As a child in a public school, I was never told that I was “dumb” or “stupid”, but this was the way I was always left feeling.
From an early age, I was tested. Being young and all, it felt like I was being tested nearly every day, but in reality it was once a week. I was pulled from my first grade class to be assessed on my reading proficiency; sometimes they would ask me questions after my reading and other times they would just count how many words I had read in the given time. I remember knowing that I wasn't normal for whatever reason and no one ever took the time to explain to me why they were doing so; all I knew was that I wasn't doing “good enough”.
Being tested and being aware that other students were not I began to think this made different but I was too afraid to ask. Eventually during my year in my second grade they took me out of my English class altogether. I became a part of a program where they taught us our spelling rules and we all read out loud together. But nothing about it was positive, I remember feeling secluded from my friends when I went to practice some dreadful reading exercises. From the very beginning, I was discouraged; I worked my butt off every time they sent me to my “special” class, but somehow I was meant to terminate here. But eventually I pulled through it and made it, I had a month of clear proficiency and was accepted to attend English with my friends again; of course they were required to continue to test me and make sure that I didn’t fall behind. My mom was never too concerned mainly because she thought it was my school’s way of keeping up our scores, so we could continue to be ranked one of the highest in the state. But as time went on my mom decided it wasn't just the school, in fact I was still missing something. This is when she decided to help me find other resource so I could master my reading skills and took me to a private tutor where my parents paid $80/hour for weeks upon weeks. Of course, I felt guilty that my parents were spending so much money (at that point $10 was a lot) but this was the first time I saw how important my reading was. It awed me that my mom was willing to spend that much money for me to learn how to be a better reader, because at this point I had almost accepted being a failure. I remember my tutor trying to start at the beginning with the sound that every letter made along with all the rules that went with them.
There was an improvement in my reading skills, but it wasn't what she expected to see. My mom never wanted me to feel dumb when I would cry out of frustration my mom would tell me that I’m just as smart as the other kids but it just might be more effort for me, which I never thought was fair. When my frustration became a regular occurrence, my mom thought it was time to take me to see the master of all the tests: the neuropsychologist. This the first time I was able to receive any answers. After 8 hours of testing and missing a day of school, I had become diagnosed with Dyslexia.
I felt relief. It wasn't me; it was Dyslexia. It finally wasn't me, it was the condition. I remember a weight off of my shoulder and so did all of my educators at the time.
Why is this the way the education system works? Why is it that if we don't fit in with other scores we are forced to feel incapable? No one in my schooling took the time to realize that my level of proficiency in math was through the roof, and therefore it wasn't that I was dumb. Where don’t we educate our teachers about learning differences?
From an early age, I was tested. Being young and all, it felt like I was being tested nearly every day, but in reality it was once a week. I was pulled from my first grade class to be assessed on my reading proficiency; sometimes they would ask me questions after my reading and other times they would just count how many words I had read in the given time. I remember knowing that I wasn't normal for whatever reason and no one ever took the time to explain to me why they were doing so; all I knew was that I wasn't doing “good enough”.
Being tested and being aware that other students were not I began to think this made different but I was too afraid to ask. Eventually during my year in my second grade they took me out of my English class altogether. I became a part of a program where they taught us our spelling rules and we all read out loud together. But nothing about it was positive, I remember feeling secluded from my friends when I went to practice some dreadful reading exercises. From the very beginning, I was discouraged; I worked my butt off every time they sent me to my “special” class, but somehow I was meant to terminate here. But eventually I pulled through it and made it, I had a month of clear proficiency and was accepted to attend English with my friends again; of course they were required to continue to test me and make sure that I didn’t fall behind. My mom was never too concerned mainly because she thought it was my school’s way of keeping up our scores, so we could continue to be ranked one of the highest in the state.
But as time went on my mom decided it wasn't just the school, in fact I was still missing something. This is when she decided to help me find other resource so I could master my reading skills and took me to a private tutor where my parents paid $80/hour for weeks upon weeks. Of course, I felt guilty that my parents were spending so much money (at that point $10 was a lot) but this was the first time I saw how important my reading was. It awed me that my mom was willing to spend that much money for me to learn how to be a better reader, because at this point I had almost accepted being a failure. I remember my tutor trying to start at the beginning with the sound that every letter made along with all the rules that went with them.
There was an improvement in my reading skills, but it wasn't what she expected to see. My mom never wanted me to feel dumb when I would cry out of frustration my mom would tell me that I’m just as smart as the other kids but it just might be more effort for me, which I never thought was fair. When my frustration became a regular occurrence, my mom thought it was time to take me to see the master of all the tests: the neuropsychologist. This the first time I was able to receive any answers. After 8 hours of testing and missing a day of school, I had become diagnosed with Dyslexia.
I felt relief. It wasn't me; it was Dyslexia. It finally wasn't me, it was the condition. I remember a weight off of my shoulder and so did all of my educators at the time.
Why is this the way the education system works? Why is it that if we don't fit in with other scores we are forced to feel incapable? No one in my schooling took the time to realize that my level of proficiency in math was through the roof, and therefore it wasn't that I was dumb. Where don’t we educate our teachers about learning differences?